Bottled Up
by Aisukuri-Mu Studio
Summary: .:E:. For as long as he can remember, Guy buries his emotions, keeping them bottled up until the day he explodes.


Bottled Up

Guy's fists are clenched, tight as always, as the Princess appears before him to demand his charge's presence. Guy gives her a scathing nod with the most superfluous smile, bows his lowest, and turns to fetch the boy.

_I hate her I hate her I hate her I_ hate her

"Young master?" Guy calls, knocking on the door. "You've a visitor."

As Luke fon Fabre steps out, he only casts Guy a glance of acknowledgement, and as the servant himself, Guy is made to close the door behind him—an act that a boy of eight can very well do himself. "Come," Luke commands, and as always, Guy follows.

_I hate him I hate him I hate him I _hate him

Of course, Luke returns to the foyer, where his fiancée is waiting. Natalia stands from her seat at the chaise longue and rushes to him, and they embrace, though Luke does not seem very comfortable participating in such an affectionate gesture in front of others.

"I've finished my lessons for the day," Luke says, "so Father will allow us outside if we have a supervisor." Then he turns, and his eyes land on Guy. He does not need to say anything; Guy just smiles, thin as it is, and goes to the Duke's office.

So routine. So trivial. But this one Guy hates most of all.

"Ah; hello, Guy." The Duke's voice, deep and booming, gets under Guy's skin. "I suppose the children are going out again today?"

"Yes, sir." Guy's voice sounds clipped to him, irritated, perhaps, but the Duke does not notice it. Madame Fabre, sitting next to him—an odd change of pace, Guy thinks, because she is quite often sick in bed—furrows her brow.

"Make sure they're back by eight," is all the Duke says, and as Guy bows, preparing to return to Luke and Natalia, Madame Fabre speaks up.

"Are you not well?" she asks, and Guy's heart falls.

Everyone here is responsible. The Duke, who cut down Guy's entire family himself; the princess, who stood by and gave no order to stop it, just the same as the king; and his godforsaken charge, whose father's blood runs through his veins. Guy hates them all; each and every one. But…

But the Duchess…

"I am very well," he replies, and the half-hearted smile that he manages is the most sincere one he's shown in weeks, months—perhaps years. "Thank you for your concern, milady."

She watches him a moment more. "You know, Guy," she begins, and her voice is soft but scratchy—she must have only just recovered, "you may take a sick day if you need it. We value the health of our staff—"

"What are you…"

Madame Fabre holds up a hand, silencing her husband in one move. Guy wishes he had that sort of courage. "_I_ value the health of our staff," she corrects, though her tone is accusatory and the Duke appears hurt, "and you haven't taken a day off in months. If you need a day, all you need to do is ask."

"I appreciate your concern." And truly, he does; Guy hasn't had anyone worry over him in so long that it brings back memories he'd rather have forgotten, his throat tightening. "But I am more than well enough to escort your son and his fiancée through town. Please, don't worry."

There's a long, tense silence as the Duke's brow furrows. For a moment, Guy is confused, and then he realizes he's forgotten to address her properly. He clears his throat. "Milady."

She sighs. "Very well. Then please do. I trust you to see to them."

He nods, bows completely this time, and returns to Luke and Natalia. When he enters the foyer, Luke's watching the doorway with a familiar intensity, and he snaps as soon as their eyes meet. "What took you so long?" he demands, irritated. "Come on! We haven't got all day!"

Guy stares at him, his eyebrow twitches—but yet again he swallows down any and all emotion he feels, instead showcasing his pleasant and common smile, one that he's heard the maids whispering about when they think he can't hear. "Then let's be off," he says, and when Luke and Natalia take off, he follows close behind.

His emotions have been bottled up for a very long time—ever since he arrived at the Fabre household. He can't ever show his true colors, for fear of losing his chance of revenge. The time is not ripe yet, because the Duke does not trust him fully, not yet; and he hasn't the courage, anyway. But to repress himself so much…

He is a time bomb, and he knows this; with all of his true self bottled up, an explosive gas on the verge of detonation. All he needs is one kick at just the right angle, and he'll be gone, as will they.

But Guy doesn't care. If that explosion will give him the strength he needs, it will all be worth it.

Revenge is sweet, indeed.

* * *

Denial is useless.

Guy's stomach turned with the thought when he bade farewell to his best friend, his only brother. Watching Luke walk to his doom and knowing it, knowing that it would save not only the lives of his friends, but also the world—watching Luke be so _mature_—it ripped Guy's heart out.

His stomach still churns with it as he flutters about his manor, pacing, desperate for something to do. His fingers itch for the wrench, but he can't—he's still waiting for the concept ideas from the team over in Sheridan—and it's _killing him_. He's dying from the inside out.

He'd give anything to become a servant again. He has half a mind to dismiss all of his staff and buy a ticket to Baticul to beg Duke Fabre for a job, _beg_ him, for _anything_. If it will steady his aching heart and tear his mind away from what's come to pass, he'll degrade himself if he has to.

That's almost what he does—he stops, done with his inconsistent walking speed, and turns, heading straight for the door—but there's a knock, and he has to stop again. He has a visitor. A visitor! Oh, goodness, at long last! He almost laughs in relief, and when he opens the door, he's surprised.

Jade is standing there with a critical look in his eye. Guy almost has the courage to ask him what's wrong, but Jade speaks first.

"Are you well?"

Strange—not the question in and of itself, but the idea of it. Guy chuckles and shakes his head, smiling all the same. "Of course I am," he replies. "Goodness—"

"I'll need a detailed report of your sleeping and eating habits for the past few days." Jade charges right in, closing the door behind him. Guy notices that Jade has an odd sort of medical kit with him and he almost laughs. "Where's your manservant? Surely he's been keeping note."

"I'm fine, Jade, honestly." Guy chuckles again, but when Jade swerves to meet his gaze, Guy falters. "Why? What's with all the worry?"

"One of your maids came to my mansion in a fit." Jade sets the kit atop an end table in the foyer, and he crosses his arms. "She refused to calm herself and insisted on my interfering. I know how you are when you mourn, Guy—don't you dare interrupt me; just because I've never experienced it myself doesn't mean you're not the easiest person to read—and so here I am. The manservant?"

Guy's staring at him now, his face pale. Olivia had done that? But why? Guy's fine—he's _been_ fine. How in the world had he been acting in order to upset her so? "Jack's out of town right now. I granted him leave to visit his sister, who is of ill health."

Jade sighs. "I suppose I'll have to just take a look at you myself, then. Sit."

Guy starts to protest. Jade scowls, his brow furrows, and his eyes begin to seem more red than usual. So Guy obliges him.

"You don't have rings under your eyes," Jade says as he's turning Guy's chin at various angles, "and you don't seem particularly weaker or thinner than normal. So there's nothing wrong with you physically, at least."

_At least?_ The corners of Guy's mouth turn downward. "What is that supposed to mean?" he demands when Jade releases him.

"I do _so_ hate explaining things."

"Jade, I'm not messed up." There's a pause, then, one of extreme disbelief, and Guy grits his teeth. "Okay, maybe a _little_—I mean, my gynophobia's nothing to dust aside—but it's gotten better. It has. Peony's got the best shrinks working with me on that, and most of them are women."

"I'm not concerned with your gynophobia," Jade says, and Guy takes into note the fact that Jade is not fiddling with the kit; they are just sitting now. Just talking. "You're far too predictable, Guy, you really are. When your family was murdered and you were angry, you had no one to express that rage and hatred to; instead you buried it, and it festered within you. That was what rose when Sync activated that Curse Slot, was it not?"

"Y-yeah," Guy replies. "But I don't see what that has to do with…"

"When Ion died, you did not cry with us; you stood in silence, and while you tended to Luke's grief, you tried to do away with yours, deciding to deal with it at a much later date; and I have yet to see proof that you've faced it yet, even now."

"Jade—"

The colonel leans forward, and never have his blood-red eyes seemed more like the lance he wields than they do now. "And when Luke left to his doom, you stood with a mottled, boiled, distraught expression on your face for one brief moment, and that was it—then you turned and tried to comfort Tear as we raced out of Eldrant, so that she would not fall with him. You bottled up those emotions as if they were an explosive gas, and sooner or later, you will explode if you do not release it."

Guy's entire body tenses, seizing, as if he's about to do just that—and then he turns away, unable to keep his eye contact. His breathing is shallow, to his disbelief, and Jade leans back, though his eyes never move.

"Th-that…"

His chest, his neck, they're so constricted, like he's about to puke, and his eyes—leaking. Why? What is this? It's…

"Don't talk about it," he decides to say, refusing to even say what _'it'_ is. He wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes before Jade can see them.

"And here we go again," Jade replies, and he sounds exasperated. "Guy, you're a mess. I know I'm not the most… sentimental of our group, but even I understand that emotions are necessary. That's part of why I'm a disaster." Then Jade brushes a strand of his long hair aside, and he glances away.

"…And why I am so determined to make sure you're not."

The words are so soft that Guy almost misses them, but he hears them, and that's all the prodding he needs. Guy curls into the couch, his body shaking, and without a sound, he explodes.

The explosion is a calm one, a release of energy and hatred and self-loathing so large that sound would not have the power to express it, and Jade watches in a silent vigil, as if protecting him from the judgment of others.

With this single, endless moment, Guy's bottle is empty. The cork is pulled and long gone, and the glass of his bottle has cracked. It is not entirely shattered, no, not yet—

But Jade expects to work on that next.

_~fin_

* * *

**Elsa's Note**: I wrote this because I love Guy. A lot. Also because I read a discussion of Guy's flaws, because they're so hard to point out, that made the observation that he spent his entire life bottling up his emotions, which is unarguably unhealthy. And now you have this, what started out as a drabble and ended as an actual story.

All reviews are appreciated! I don't know what I'd do without people to give feedback~ *A* Love you all!


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